West Wing to Maternity Wing!(7)

The blood-pressure cuff stopped abruptly. The hiss of air seeping out  from it. Linc glanced at the screen again-150/96. A bit higher than  before, but not yet dangerous. Still worth keeping an eye on. His eyes  fell to his watch. There were a million things he wanted to say right  now. A million things he wanted to know. Six years to catch up on. But  David had been right. He had other duties-other priorities-that he  couldn't get distracted from.

'I'm sorry, Amy, but I seriously need some shut-eye and I've a neonate to deal with who doesn't want to feed.'

Her eyes fell to the notes, still clutched in his hands. She couldn't  hide the slight tremor in her voice. 'Will you read my notes and tell me  if you'll agree to be my baby's doctor?' Her hands were back at her  stomach, protectively rubbing her extended abdomen.

The notes. She knew exactly what he would read in there. But for some  reason he didn't want to give her an easy way out. Why couldn't she just  find the words to tell him? She had no idea he'd already read them. And  he was beginning to feel too tired to care.

'In the interests of professionalism I'll read your notes, not  now-later-but I want to hear everything-straight from the horse's mouth,  so to speak. There's nothing in these notes that you won't be able to  tell me yourself. I'll come back later. We'll talk then-and I'll decide  if I can be your baby's doctor or not. I can't do it if there's going to  be a conflict of interest for me, and … ' his eyes rolled towards the  outside corridor as he gave her a crooked little grin ' … your timing  could have been better.'

Amy watched as he exited through the curtains, her throat tight.

She needed him. She needed him to be there for her baby-and for her. He  was the best in the world. No one else would do. She couldn't lose this  baby.

It had all seemed so simple in her head. As soon as she'd known she was  at risk of pre-eclampsia, she'd known she had to find Linc. She'd seen  him bring neonates that should have died back to life. And that was  normal for him.

The long line of mothers who'd queued up on the banks of the Amazon to  show them their healthy, growing children-children he had saved in  previous years-was testament to that.

There had been no doubt in her mind. This was all about her baby. All about the little boy currently growing in her stomach.

So why was she feeling like a teenager with a schoolgirl crush? She hadn't thought about Lincoln for the last five years.

No. That wasn't strictly true. He'd crept into her dreams on a few  occasions-all of them X-rated. But dreams you couldn't control. Truth be  told, she hadn't let herself think about playboy Linc for the last five  years. Too much potential for heartache. She'd had to concentrate all  her energy on beating the cancer.

And now she was only here because she needed him for her son. Really.

When she'd had her detailed scan she almost hadn't asked what sex her  baby was. But at the last moment she'd changed her mind. She'd wanted to  prepare for her son or daughter. She'd wanted to pick his pram, his  bedclothes and the paper for his nursery wall. She'd even picked his  name. Zachary. Zachary John Carson.

She whispered the name as her hands ran over her stomach. 'Stay inside  just a little longer, Zachary. I need you to be as healthy as can be  when you come out. Momma needs to know that you're going to do just  fine.' A tear slid down her cheek and the anger started to rise in her  chest.

Why should the First Lady's baby be any more important than hers? And  why did she, after everything she'd been through, have to develop a  condition that could threaten her baby?

But this was it. Cancer had crept through her body tissues and the  chemotherapy had ravaged them. She'd lost her ability to have a baby  naturally and this embryo was her last chance. Her only chance.

So how come she couldn't just focus on her baby?

From the first second she'd opened her eyes and seen Lincoln again, her  heart had gone into overdrive. There were so many things about him she'd  forgotten. His intense gaze. His lazy smile. His flirting. The way he  could comfort her with the touch of his hand and the stroke of his  finger.         

     



 

And the camouflage he kept around himself.

She'd seen how he jumped from being really comfortable around her one  minute, like it had only been a few days since they'd seen each other,  since they'd slept together and been wrapped in each other's arms, to  shifting into the professional role, the possibility of being her baby's  doctor and all the lines that blurred in between.

But she wasn't asking him to be her doctor, so surely that simplified things?

So why did her heart keep beating rapidly in her chest every time he was  next to her? Why did her hairs stand on end when he touched her and  make her feel as if an electrical charge had run up her arm?

Amy squeezed her eyes shut tightly. She couldn't allow herself to feel  like this. Lincoln wasn't interested in her. She was a six years past  girlfriend who'd had a mastectomy and was carrying a child that wasn't  his. Why would he even give her a second glance?

He was only being kind. He was only being a friend. He couldn't possibly want anything else from her, could he?

This was Lincoln Adams. And yesterday this gorgeous blue-eyed,  brown-haired doc had been announced on television as looking after the  First Daughter. He was world news. Women would be throwing themselves at  his feet.

She had to concentrate on the most important thing right now-a safe  delivery and outcome for her baby. She'd come here to find Lincoln Adams  because he was the best doctor to care for her baby. Nothing else. No  matter how he currently made her feel.





CHAPTER THREE

'LINC? Linc?'

The voice was quiet, softly spoken, but the hand pressing down on his  shoulder was firm, stirring him from the first hour's sleep he'd had in  two days.

'What … what is it?' His hands automatically went to his sleep-filled eyes  and he rubbed hard. He looked around him. He'd sat down for just a  minute in the NICU, waiting for the First Lady to awaken and try to feed  her baby again, but the heat from the unit had enveloped him and before  he'd known it …

Val, one of his nurses, was standing next to him smiling. 'Wake up, sleeping beauty, you're needed.'

'Is Jennifer Taylor awake?'

Val nodded. 'She's been awake for the last half-hour. Both Ruth and I  have tried to assist her with breastfeeding, but the truth is we just  can't get this baby to latch on.' She glanced down at her watch. 'And if  we're going to follow the protocols we normally use at San Fran then  we're at our time limit for getting some fluids into this baby. You're  going to have to come and talk to her.'

Linc gave a nod, stood up and tried to flatten his rumpled scrubs. He  walked over to the nearby sink and splashed some cold water on his face  and hands.

Neonates could be hard work. Esther, who had been born at thirty-two  weeks, hadn't yet developed her natural mechanism to suck and feed. It  was a common complaint in premature babies and one he was used to  dealing with. The last thing in the world he wanted to do was to put a  tube into the baby's stomach and feed it artificially. The First Lady  wanted to breastfeed and he would make sure that he and his staff did  everything they could to make that happen.

He pulled some paper towels from the nearby dispenser and dried his face.

'Have you had any success expressing some breast milk?'

Val nodded. 'Ruth's in there with her now-we knew that would be the next step.'

Lincoln took a deep breath and pushed open the door into the adjoining  room. Charles Taylor, the President of the United States, was perched on  the edge of the bed one arm wrapped around his wife's shoulders, the  other cradling daughter Esther. By neonatal standards Esther was a  healthy weight at just under five pounds. Would Amy's baby be so lucky?  Where had that come from? Lincoln felt a little shudder drift down his  spine. He had a job to do. He couldn't allow himself to be distracted.

Jennifer's brow was furrowed, her eyes fixed on the pump that the nurse  Ruth was using to help her express some milk from her breasts. She  looked exasperated as the smallest trickle of creamy breast milk started  to collect in the receptacle.

'What's wrong with me?' she gasped. 'Is that it? No wonder my baby can't feed.'

Lincoln crossed the room in a few steps and sat down at the bottom of  the bed. This was no time for pomp and ceremony. The last thing he  wanted was for Jennifer to think she was failing at feeding her child.

'Give it a few minutes, Jennifer. Ruth is an expert at this and it takes  a bit of time for your milk to come in. Remember, Esther is a tiny baby  and she won't need a huge amount to start with.' He pointed at the  small amount already collected. 'That is called colostrum. And it's like  gold dust for babies. It contains antibodies and is rich in protein and  carbohydrates- exactly what your baby needs.'         

     



 

The tears were already starting to form in Jennifer's eyes. 'But she won't feed. I can't get her to take anything.'

Lincoln nodded. 'And that's entirely normal for a thirty-two-weeker. Her  natural instincts to suck and feed haven't kicked in yet. Sometimes it  can take a few weeks. In the meantime, we have to look at how to get  some fluids into her. The last thing we want is for your baby to  dehydrate.'